


He Who Aspires to Be Greater (Than His Nature Will Allow)

by Kurukami



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Incredible Hulk (2008)
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Body Horror, F/M, For Science!, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 00:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurukami/pseuds/Kurukami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Bruce Banner seeks knowledge, recognition, accomplishment... but will his experiments come at a cost more painful than he could ever have anticipated?  (A Victorian reimagining of the Hulk's origins.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Who Aspires to Be Greater (Than His Nature Will Allow)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Jane and Loki Drabbles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1295896) by [audreyii_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyii_fic/pseuds/audreyii_fic). 



> Title comes from Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_.

* * *

_"The mills of the gods grind slowly, but they grind exceeding fine."_

_Sextus Empiricus, 3rd Century Greek philosopher._

* * *

The paper of the letter ignited easily enough in the flame of the bunsen burner, and Bruce Banner flung it upon the stone worktable. _Would that my true father’s words were turned to ash within the pages of my memory as easily,_ he fumed. _Could not my lineage, in the absence of any other heirs, be finally recognized as legitimate?_

Evidently, the answer to that query was a resounding _no_. 

Of _course_ that would never do, not for the proud scion of a noble family, no matter how fallen or impoverished that family might have become. _And no matter what deeds I accomplish, no matter what glory I garner or knowledge I establish, he will never think of me as more than a byblow, the chance result of a season’s delight with a pretty chambermaid._

The earl’s most recent letter had made that abundantly clear.

Bruce felt his hands clench, the nails digging hard into his callused palms, then exhaled slowly. Perhaps he would never be anything more than an embarrassment in the eyes of his father, but there were other routes to recognition. Routes of marriage, possibly; routes of accomplishment beneath the patronage of the General, more certainly. The latter was far more probable than the former, given the circumstances of his birth, but…

He allowed the image of Elizabeth to rise to the forefront of his thoughts for a moment – her umber tresses, the arch of her brow, the curve of her smiling lips, her eyes as she gazed at him: blue-grey, like the sea after a storm – then took another slow breath and let it fade. _The daughter of General Sir Thaddeus Ross,_ he thought wonderingly. _I must be mad, to even consider she might one day consent to be my wife._

And yet…

Bruce shook his head. The General was many things – a retired soldier, a cunning tactician who had distinguished himself during the Indian Rebellion of ‘57, the chief supplier of armaments to Her Majesty’s Army – but willing to allow his daughter to wed a bastard-born who had once been a druggist’s apprentice, no matter how brilliant a chemist he might be, was likely not among them. Unless, that was, Bruce was able to unravel the formula for the mythic panacea-serum of Doctor Abraham Erskine.

The serum was legendary, in the most literal sense of the word. The pages of many a penny dreadful were filled with the purported exploits of a certain cowled hero of the American Revolution, a chivalrous shield-carrying champion who had fought a lengthy campaign against a diabolically-visaged Hessian, but historical apocrypha implied that there might actually have been such individuals. There were tantalizing hints hidden in the musty pages of obscure volumes and decaying missives, allusions to battles which never entered the histories of that era, the implication of swiftly-healed wounds which would have slain or crippled any normal man.

The panacea-serum was an alluring possibility, from the esoteric arcana he had laboriously researched. And the General, given his lengthy military experience in so many theaters abroad and his influence as weapons manufacturer, had long been a proponent of the virtues of the idealized soldier – of swiftness, of strength, of intelligence and courage and the devotion to duty. The General would undoubtedly find worth in such a discovery.

Towards that goal Bruce had been laboring for a number of months, in the late hours of each afternoon, after his more practical experiments with the compounds and alchemics of materiel with more directly military purposes had been completed. He was close; he _knew_ he was. All he needed to do was find that single element, the last fundamental piece, which would allow him to unlock the formula for the panacea, and then a great many things might come to pass. It had been done before, he was certain of it. 

Perhaps today’s experiments would yield greater results than the weeks past. 

He had, after reading an intriguing scientific paper by one L. Odinson, pursued a course of research which some might have deemed questionable. There were elements upon the earth which purportedly were not _of_ this earth, though they were exceedingly rare and difficult to locate. What few samples he had been able to obtain had meteoric origins, and had been shipped here from far afield. One of the most promising, which he had yet to open, had come all the way from the arid wastes east of the American frontier city of Santa Fe, and by all reports had fallen from the void above in a swirling display of luminescence and brilliant colors.

He stroked the lid of the packing crate thoughtfully, then winced at the rumble in his stomach. A quick glance at his pocketwatch confirmed the hour. His friend Ambrose must have been waiting at the tavern a good fifteen minutes already, and it was well past time for a break.

The samples of carcosium could wait. Until after dinner, at least.

With optimism in his stride, he locked up the laboratory and departed. Things were about to change; he felt certain of it.


End file.
